


you just happen to have a claymore lying around?

by coffeeandchemicals



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Fluff, Gay Billy Hargrove, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Touching, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals
Summary: This was bad.“Robin, c’mon, do I have to?”This was very bad.“Yes, Steve, you already said you would. You can’t back out now,” Robin replies, leaning back against the bathroom counter to admire her handywork. Then she adds, “I wish you’d let me give you eyeliner, it’d make your eyes really pop.”“You never saidanythingabout dressing up,” Steve counters, blatantly ignoring his reflection in the mirror, instead making pointed eye contact with Robin.“Dude,” she sighs, crossing her arms, “it’s a Halloween party, wearing a costume is a given.”Or: “Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second”. Except it's a Halloween party!
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington
Comments: 20
Kudos: 266





	you just happen to have a claymore lying around?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nervoussis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/gifts).



> Written for the extremely wonderful [nervoussis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis), who gave me the prompt: “Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second”. This is my interpretation, but instead of a bar, they’re at a Halloween party. I hope you like it! Thank you for being a great friend in and out of this fandom <3
> 
> This is also pretty much fluff, which is totally different from the angst-ridden stories that I usually write… Also, I know nothing about frat parties – where I went to uni, fraternities and sororities were not a thing. 
> 
> Please mind the tags! If I’ve missed something, please let me know. There is a bit of non-consensual touching, which I’ve explained in the note at the end. 
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderfully patient [red_plaid_on_red_plaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_plaid_on_red_plaid).

This was bad. 

“Robin, c’mon, do I have to?”

This was very bad. 

“Yes, Steve, you already said you would. You can’t back out now,” Robin replies, leaning back against the bathroom counter to admire her handywork. Then she adds, “I wish you’d let me give you eyeliner, it’d make your eyes really pop.”

“You never said _anything_ about dressing up,” Steve counters, blatantly ignoring his reflection in the mirror, instead making pointed eye contact with Robin.

“Dude,” she sighs, crossing her arms, “it’s a Halloween party, wearing a costume is a given.”

“But,” Steve says, glancing at the mirror, blushing, and then looks down at his feet, “isn’t this, like, cultural appropriation?”

Robin quirks an eyebrow. 

“Like,” he continues, looking at himself in the mirror again, “isn’t this gonna make people mad?”

“Oh, probably,” Robin says, as she reaches out to adjust the folds of fabric that fall diagonally across Steve’s chest. “But,” she continues, “I think most people will be happy to just… stare.” 

“Robinnnnnn,” Steve whines, trying to put all his irritation and discomfort into the drawn out second syllable of her name.

“Steeeeve,” she mimics.

Steve huffs and glares at her.

“C’mon,” Robin cajoles, “please? I really need a wingman.”

Steve continues to glare at her and crosses his arms over his mostly bare chest for further emphasis. He notes, absently, that goosebumps have arisen on his bare arms.

Robin sighs. “The only people you’re gonna piss off are the Scots. And that’s just because the movie was so bad. Like no historical accuracy at all.”

“But,” he starts to say.

“Steve… Please, you know she’s gonna be there,” Robin pleads.

Steve glances from her face to his reflection in the mirror down to his bare legs and back to her face. 

“Besides, you’re not really dressing up as him,” Robin says, quickly, her eyes tracing the path his gaze took. “You’re dressing up as Mel Gibson from that movie, y’know, just without,” she gestures to Steve’s head, “the really bad hair.”

Steve reaches up reflexively to pat down his hair. It was getting a little long; if he tried, he could pull some of it up into a tiny ponytail. But he generally let it fall into his eyes. Nancy said it made him look “mysterious”, Robin said it made him look “dumb”, and Jonathan, well, he just kept his opinions to himself. At least about Steve’s hair. 

“And you didn’t have a costume,” Robin continues, “like who doesn’t have a costume for Halloween?”

“Someone who doesn’t really like Halloween…” Steve mutters. The _obviously_ was implied in his tone. 

But Robin ignores him and says, “And this is all I could find.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “about that. You just happen to have a claymore lying around?”

Robin shrugs and turns back to the mirror. “You never know when it’ll be useful,” she says, applying more eyeliner to her right eye. 

“But… why is it so heavy?”

“Because it’s a four-foot long sword, Steve, what do you expect?”

Steve hefts it up, bringing the point level with his waste. He looks up and sees Robin’s facial expression. And… yes, that is very phallic. He drops the sword with a flush and it clangs off the tiles.

“Put it away, you’re gonna hurt someone,” Robin says, and then adds under her breath, “probably me.”

“It sounds like it’s made from metal.”

“Of course it’s made from metal.”

“I thought it was a stage prop, y’know, made styrofoam or something.” Steve slides the sword back into the baldric and swings it onto his back. There is no way he can pull that sword out while it’s still lying across his bac. How did they even use these in battle? Was there like a minute beforehand when everyone just stopped and awkwardly unshouldered the scabbard to pull out the sword? And then counted down from three to fight? And was there always that small group that charged on “one” as opposed to “go”?

“It is,” Robin says, stepping back from the mirror, “a stage prop, I mean, it’s just more upscale. Or something. I dunno, I stole it from the theatre kids.”

“You stole… Robin! Is there going to be a mob of angry thespians hunting me down?”

“Probably not,” she replies, grabbing his arm to drag him out the bathroom, “at least not until Monday.”

“Robin!” But Steve lets himself be pulled down the hall.

Jonathan and Nancy are lounging on the couch, passing a flask back and forth when Steve and Robin come into the living room of the house that the four of them rent together. 

“Robin!” Steve yells when he sees what they’re wearing. “Why did you make me wear this?” He gestures violently at his torso. “I could’ve just done what they did.” He throws Nancy a glare.

Nancy laughs. “It’s because we picked out our own costumes,” she says. She stands up and does a little twirl. And… Nancy looks like Nancy. Except she’s got cheap plastic Devil’s horns on her head, with her hair draped over to hide the band they’re attached to, a red trident, and a tail. A fucking red tail with a spade on the end that curls to the side, its shape held by some sort of stiff wire. She didn’t even wear all red to complete the costume, because that would scream that she cared too much. No, she’s in black, like she usually is, ever since she and Jonathan started dating; black tights, black skirt, black shirt. Red Converse though, those are cool. 

Jonathan snorts and Steve gives him an even bigger glare. And that makes Jonathan laugh even harder. Steve takes in his “costume”; it’s just little angel wings and a headband with a sparkly gold halo attached to it by some flimsy wire. And, of course, Jonathan’s usual black tee-shirt and black jeans. That guy needs some more colour in his life. Although, it does provide a nice contrast to the white wings that are currently getting squished out of shape as he slumps on the couch. 

“What,” Steve snaps, “did you flip a coin to decide who would be who?”

“Nance wanted to be the Devil,” Jonathan says, with a little shrug, like he really doesn’t care – Steve wonders if Jonathan practices that look of apathy in the mirror – and then he passes Steve the flask.

Steve grabs it with a little huff and then takes a large swallow. The alcohol burns all the way down to his stomach. It doesn’t make him feel any better. He looks up and sees Jonathan running his eyes over him in an expression that borders on predatory and then shifts into a grin. Steve knows what he sees: plaid swathed over his bare chest that Robin has some how belted around him and pinned so it forms the traditional kilt (Steve doesn’t know where Robin learned how to do that – “The internet, Steve.”), bare legs and feet stuffed into an old pair of Doc Martens from Steve’s punk phase (“Sorry, Steve,” Robin had said, “I don’t have the right footwear, these’ll have to do.”), and the sword hilt sticking up over his right shoulder. Right, and the blue face paint. Of course. He lets out a loud sigh. 

“William Wallace?” Jonathan asks, eyebrows raised in an expression of approval. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, dejectedly, tugging at the material draped across his chest, “I dunno why Robin couldn’t’ve let me wear a shirt under this.”

“Because that would have ruined the look,” Robin says, “besides, you look great. You gotta show off those arms.”

“And pecs,” Nancy chimes in – Steve wonders how much she’s had to drink. 

“Robin, why do you need me?” Steve asks, spinning on his heel to give her a plaintive puppy-dog eyes look. “Jonathan and Nancy are all ready to go. You don’t need me to be your wingman.”

Robin sniffs, smooths down the fronts of her beige trousers, and tips her black bowler hat towards him. “Steve you’re my droog,” she says, in a perfect British accent, “and those two are just going to stand in a corner looking all dark and misunderstood. That’s not gonna help me at all.”

“Nice costume, Alex,” Jonathan says, appreciatively, because of course he would have seen _A Clockwork Orange_. Steve only realized who Robin was supposed to be after she’d finished putting the eyeliner around her one eye and donned the black bowler. Steve had seen enough posters and gifs floating around the internet to recognize Malcom McDowell from the movie without ever having to see it. 

“Besides,” Nancy adds, as she grabs the flask back from Steve, “don’t you want to meet someone, Steve, hasn’t it been, like three months since Adam?”

Steve sighs. He really doesn’t want to think about Adam. Adam’s dark hair, blue eyes that looked into your soul, the hoops that went through his ears and septum that gave off the whole misunderstood artsy hipster vibe that made Steve weak in the knees. Adam who dumped him three weeks later because he’d become “enamored of this new girl and didn’t Steve understand, it was all about the chase, and...” Nope, not thinking about Adam at all. 

“Adam?” Jonathan asks, as Nancy hands him the flask, “what happened to Cat?”

Steve sighs even louder. Come on guys, take a hint. He doesn’t want to think about Cat either. Tiny, petite Cat who had long red hair and dimples even when she wasn’t smiling. Cat who was so positive about everything that Steve had started censoring his feelings around her so she wouldn’t see what a downer he was. And then she’d found out about his depression and anxiety and… Nope, not thinking about Cat at all. 

“Jonathan,” Nancy hisses, “I told you, she left him. And then Steve started seeing Adam and then–”

“Guys,” Steve snaps, “can we not rehash my failed relationships. That’d be great.” He wrenches the flask from Jonathan’s grip and takes another long swallow. “What is even in this, anyway? Rubbing alcohol? Moonshine?”

Jonathan grins and grabs it back. “Nah, just vodka.”

“Fitting, seeing as a lot of the words from _A Clockwork Orange_ have a Russian origin,” Robin says, as she deftly plucks the flask from Jonathan’s hand and takes a mouthful. She coughs, sputters, almost wretches, and mutters, “I hate vodka. Evil, vile drink.”

Jonathan nods in agreement but takes the flask back anyways with a, “It was cheap, and it’ll get you drunk fast.” He stands up, and stretches, showing a bare sliver skin between his shirt and jeans. Steve notes, completely unintentionally, that he can see the dark trail of hair that disappears into Jonathan’s jeans. Fuck, maybe he does need to get laid?

“I could’ve been a cat,” Steve mutters to Nancy, as they turn to leave, “you could’ve bought me cat ears when you got your costumes.”

“But,” whispers Nancy, “we would’ve missed this wonderful sight.” Then she gives him a one-armed hug, which Steve yanks himself out of, and immediately stumbles straight into Jonathan. 

“I didn’t think you’d had that much to drink yet,” Jonathan remarks, as he steadies Steve. 

“Maybe,” snaps Steve, “all my blood has rushed to my core because I’m fucking freezing in this costume, and now my legs aren’t working properly. I don’t get how you aren’t cold all the time in those,” he gestures to Nancy’s skirt. 

“That’s the secret,” Nancy says, “I’m so cold I can’t even feel it anymore.”

“C’mon, guys,” Robin says, as she shrugs into her suit jacket, “we’re gonna be late.”

“How can you be late to a stupid frat party?” asks Steve, as he pulls on his own jacket, temporal continuity be damned. 

“I told Heather I’d meet her at 10,” Robin replies, holding the door open so they can rush out into the chill of the fall air.

Steve’s legs immediately are covered in goosebumps; he wishes they were in California or Hawaii and not Indiana. “Why do you need me, if you’re already meeting her?” he asks, as he stamps his feet to keep the blood moving. 

“Safety in numbers,” mutters Jonathan, as he fishes out a joint from his jacket pocket. He lights it and passes it to Nancy, who shakes her head and says, “Don’t wanna mix alcohol with that.” Jonathan gives her a little smile and holds it out to Steve. Steve, already feeling like this night was going to be awful and needing more things to help him cope, takes the joint and takes a puff. He coughs and passes it to Robin. She also takes a toke and then hands it back to Jonathan. Then they start to walk to some frat house – Steve can never remember the names of them – passing both the flask and the joint around until both are done. 

Steve’s feelings on how the night would go did not improve when they got the party. He can feel the bass of the music reverberating up through the floor into his chest as soon as they entered. Its quick tempo encourages his heart to match its pace and Steve immediately feels himself becoming anxious – an emotional response to physical stimuli out of his control. The place is packed, people dancing, drinking, chatting – Steve assumes they’re talking but it’s so loud that he wonders how they can even hear each other – kissing, smoking, basically doing anything and everything to let off some steam. 

He glances at Robin, who’s standing on her tiptoes trying to catch sight of Heather over the mass of people, but she’s too short to see anything and drops down to her heels. 

“I can’t see her,” Robin yells, grabbing onto to Steve’s shoulder, to bring herself closer to his ear. 

“Text her?” Steve suggests, turning so he almost yelling in her ear. “Why are you even meeting her here anyway, it’s so loud I can barely hear myself think.” 

“It’s probably quieter somewhere else – we are right near the DJ,” Jonathan says, suddenly appearing on Steve’s other side, making Steve jump. 

Nancy points down to the far side of the room that holds the kitchen area, complete with some bro doing a keg-stand, as if it’ll somehow miraculously be quieter on the other side of the _same room_. Robin looks at Steve, raising her eyebrows in a questioning gesture. He shrugs in response and they start weaving their way through the people. 

It is quieter on the other side. Steve really doesn’t understand physics well enough to explain that.

“I need a drink,” Steve says, as he shrugs out his jacket. He hangs it on the back of a chair that’s been shoved up against the wall to make room for the group of people around the keg. There are bottles of alcohol spread across the countertop and a frazzled looking guy trying to keep up with pouring drinks as people shout orders at him and hand over crumpled ones and fives. Steve should have come prepared, brought his own flask, but he’d forgotten about it once he’d seen himself in this… getup. 

“I got you covered,” Robin says, as she pulls a tiny flask out of her suit jacket pocket and passes it to him.  
Steve takes it with a grateful smile, but then it’s partly her fault that he forgot to bring one anyway, so… it balances out in the end?

Taking a sip, Steve scans the crowd to see if he recognizes anyone. The rum burns all the way down his throat and he ponders trying to find some cola as mix. But when he glances over to the bar area, Steve decides he’d rather face the burn of the alcohol than that crowd. 

“Do you see her?” Robin asks, as she shoves her coat under Steve’s, and Steve hopes that they’ll still be there when they want to leave. 

“Nope,” he says, “but I don’t really know what she’s supposed to be dressed as, maybe she’s wearing a mask or something?”

“She told me she was going to be Wonder Woman,” Robin says, putting both hands on Steve’s shoulders and using him as leverage, trying to jump higher to see if she could spot Heather among the masses. 

“Did you text her?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, no response.”

“Maybe, like some of us, she doesn’t have pockets either?” Steve says, hoping his tone will convey his utter frustration over this stupid costume.

“Steve,” Nancy says, coming up with Jonathan trailing behind her, “you can’t seriously be complaining about your lack of pockets. Like, 95 percent of woman’s clothing doesn’t have pockets or have pockets so tiny that they’re practically useless.” As if to prove her point, Nancy gestures to her hips to show that her skirt didn’t have any pockets either. 

“Fine,” Steve says, because he really doesn’t have the energy to get into an argument with Nancy, or anyone for that matter, right now. “Just keep an eye out for Wonder Woman – that’s what Heather’s dressed up as.”

“At least she isn’t Harley Quinn,” Jonathan says, “I think I’ve seen like twenty of those already.”

“As opposed to your ever-original angel and devil couple’s costumes,” Robin quips, standing on the balls of her feet to give herself some more height.

“Ouch,” Nancy says, but she’s laughing. Jonathan pulls out another flask and passes it to her. Steve wonders if he has more flasks hidden somewhere. Like where was that one even stashed?

They slowly make their way through the crowd of people. Robin’s face seems to light up whenever she sees someone dressed as Wonder Woman and then falls when she realizes it’s not Heather. There aren’t as many Wonder Women as Harley Quinns, but it’s still a popular costume. 

The alcohol is muting the borders of Steve’s world as he weaves around people, but it’s not taking off the jarring edge of people trying to get into his space. Drunk people seem to have no concept of boundaries. Eventually, Steve just backs himself into a corner to take a breather. 

The lightshow from the DJ booth makes the faces blur in and out of focus; the chaotic strobing is in tune with the beat. It makes Steve feel a little dizzy. He’s not used to this many people anymore. He takes another drink and his eyes find Robin. She’s finally found Heather. Or, maybe Heather found her? Heather’s plucking at Robin’s white suspenders and laughing. Robin’s expression is a mixture between nervous fear and all-consuming joy. She leans up to tell Heather something, both hands on Heather’s shoulders, mouth next to Heather’s ear. Then they both are laughing, heads thrown back in total happiness. 

Steve takes another drink and finds Nancy and Jonathan. They’re leaning against a wall, still passing the flask back and forth. Nancy’s talking and gesticulating with her hands and Jonathan’s just watching her with this little smile on his face, watching her like she’s his whole world.

And Steve. Well, he’s standing here, alone, drink in hand, wingman services rendered, unsure of what to do next. Keep watching his friends and wallow in self-pity? Maybe. Keep drinking and hook up with some random person? Uhhhhhh, maybe. Just keep drinking and go home, alone, when his flask is done? Most likely option. 

“Ex?” a voice says right next to Steve’s right ear, causing Steve to jump and let out a little squeak that is totally covered up by the music. Completely.

A guy has managed to sneak up next to him, although it’s not that hard to do when the music is this loud and Steve is lost in his own little pity-party. Steve takes in the guy’s appearance, mostly because he’s trying to figure out who the guy is supposed to be. He’s got his blond hair pulled back into a messy bun, is wearing a band tee-shirt, partially covered by a zipped hoodie, skinny jeans, and old black converse high-tops. 

“The tiny blonde girl, she your ex?” the guy repeats, nodding towards Robin. 

“Robin? No! Definitely not.”

“Not your type?” the guy asks, with a smirk, he takes a drink from some fancy craft beer that Steve doesn’t recognize the label of. 

“More like I’m not her type,” Steve responds. 

“Ah, gotcha,” the guy says, and the adds, “what about her, the other one you were staring at, brunette dressed as the devil.” He jerks his head in Nancy’s direction. 

“Oh, uh, we dated, like a few years ago, in high school. Ancient history.”

“You sure it’s over? They keep looking at you.”

Steve looks at Nancy and Jonathan. They are both looking at him. Nancy raising her eyebrows in a questioning expression, almost as if she’s asking _are you okay?_ Steve nods, and raises his flask to them, Jonathan returns the toast. 

“They’re just worried about me,” Steve says, once the alcohol has burned all the way down his throat, “I make stupid choices when I’m drunk.”

The guy nods, with a knowing expression on his face. Then he adds, “Probably doesn’t help you’re dressed like that.”

“Oh. Right,” mutters Steve, flushing. He’d managed to forget that he was half-naked for a few minutes. “I didn’t even want to come to this.”

“You sure put in a lot of effort for someone who didn’t want to come,” remarks the guy.

“Blame Robin – tiny blonde,” Steve says, somewhat bitterly. “She said she needed a wingman, but she’s already gotten her girl. I dunno why I had to come to this.”

“So everyone else had someone to look at?” the guy suggest, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. 

“Or to balance out people like you who don’t dress up,” Steve retorts. But the leer has hit Steve low in the stomach – a combination of lust and anxiety, not a new feeling. 

“Hey, I dressed up,” the guy says, with a laugh. Then he unzips his hoodie to show the blue nametag with _Hello_ on top and _GOD_ written underneath in black sharpie block letters. 

“Nice,” Steve says, “is Joan of Arc around somewhere?” He scans the crowd, looking for a shiny helmeted head. And… nope, can’t see one. But he can’t really make out people anyways in the pulsing lights. 

The guy looks totally shocked. “You’ve actually watched _Buffy_? You get that reference?”

“Dude, it’s iconic.”

“But the show ended like more than fifteen years ago.”

“So?” Steve says.

“So?! So, no one else has gotten that reference! You are my new favourite person,” the guy responds and claps Steve on the shoulder. 

“Great, excellent, just I what I wanted,” Steve mutters, rubbing his shoulder, because that guy is stronger than he looks. Or he is hiding his muscles under a slightly oversized hoodie. Or both. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells, as she appears in front of him, dragging a slightly bemused Heather. “I found her!”

Steve lets out a snort. “I can see that.” Then to Heather, he says, “Hi Heather, nice costume.”

“Hi Steve, you look… uh, good,” says Heather. “I’m surprised you’re wearing that, or here for that matter.”

“What? Why? I can’t have fun?” Steve asks, taking another sip from his flask, he needed to make it last. 

Heather smiles, “Robin’s told me crowds aren’t really your thing, that’s all.”

Steve relaxes a bit, “Yeah, definitely not a huge fan, but Robin asked me to come, so…” _I couldn’t really say no_ is left hanging in the air. 

Robin grins at them both, like she hasn’t been listening to them. And, given how loud the music is, that’s entirely possible.

Steve looks to his right and the space next to him is empty. “Hey, did you see where that guy went?”

“What guy?” Robin yells.

“The one I was talking to – blond, skinny jeans, dressed as Oz.”

“Who?” Heather asks.

“You know, Oz, like from _Buffy_. He dressed up as God in that one Halloween episode.”

Heather gives him a blank look.

“It’s iconic,” Steve mumbles, but knows that Heather has no idea what he’s talking about.

Robin shakes her head, “No, sorry, didn’t get a really good look at him. Why? You like him?” She grins as she asks that last bit. 

Steve lets out a long loud sigh that completely loses its effectiveness in the din. “It’s not like that,” he mutters, knowing full-well that neither Heather nor Robin will hear him. 

“Oh!” Heather shouts, “I love this song. Dance with me?” She grabs Robin’s hands and pulls her back to the crowd of people, leaving Steve, once again, alone. 

Steve watches them for a minute and decides to find some place quieter to drink the remainder of his rum. He jerks himself off the wall and feels himself sway a bit as the alcohol hits him. Slowly, and trying to avoid people, he walks towards the stairs. People make remarks that he can’t quite hear, but he gets the gist based on their expressions – some predatory, some friendly. Some people drag their fingertips along his bare shoulders. They let their eyes linger too long on his crotch – as if they want to ask the age-old question: What is under there? Bike shorts, thank you very much. Steve feels a little sick and it’s not just the alcohol or the crowd. He fights his way through two Harley Quinns, a Batman, and a legitimately scary looking monster – seriously what’s with the flower shaped maw filled with teeth? Like who comes up with that? – to get to the stairs. 

He shudders with revulsion over the monster and the handsy people and almost lets out a scream when a hand closes on his upper arm. 

“Sorry! Sorry,” says the guy from earlier, quickly releasing Steve’s arm. He throws his hands up in surrender – a placating gesture that Steve is not in the mood for. 

Steve takes a few deep breaths and then glares at him. “Personal space, dude.”

“I know, my bad,” the guy responds, a sheepish grin on his face that definitely does not meet his eyes. “I just wanted to introduce myself to my new favourite person.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve counters, making his way up the stairs. He checks over his shoulder to see if the guy is following him. “If I’m your favourite person, why’d you take off?”

“Needed a refill,” the guy responds, holding up a bottle of beer with a different craft label than the one from earlier. 

Steve just raises his eyebrows at him, as if to say _really? That’s your excuse?_

The guy shrugs and lets a smirk spread across his features; it makes his eyes go half-lidded and just exudes sex. Steve would bet his actual hard-earned money – okay, it’s not actually that hard-earned, but still – that this guy has practiced this expression in the mirror. Maybe he and Jonathan should exchange notes. 

“Okay, Oz, fair enough,” Steve says. Then he adds, “Is there a Joan? You never answered that.”

“Nah,” the guy says, stepping up and then pushing past Steve. When he gets to second floor, he spins around to look at Steve and adds, with a laugh, “maybe next year it could be you.”

“Mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Steve mutters, but he continues until they’re standing toe to toe. “How about I’ll be Oz and you can be Joan?” Steve suggests, noticing, that in his Docs, he’s got a couple of inches on the guy. 

The guy grins and runs his tongue along his upper lip. “Sounds good, pretty boy.” Then he steps back and gives Steve a once-over and a wink.

“So, what do I call you?” Steve asks, as he trails the guy down the hallway. It’s quieter up here, but groups of people are still hanging about and their chatter adds to the din. “I can’t keep calling you ‘Oz’,” Steve adds, “unless your name is Oz?”

“Nope.” The guy has stopped in front of an open door and nods with his head for Steve to go ahead of him. 

Steve can see some people in there, but it seems less crowded than other rooms. He steps in and– 

“Steve?” says a familiar voice and Steve feels his stomach sinking. Can he run? Probably not. 

Steve sighs, “Hi… Adam.” Because, of course, Steve would run into an ex. And, of course, it would be Adam. And, of course, he’d be hanging off the girl that he’d left Steve for. They’ve put in a bit more effort into their couple’s costume than Nancy and Jonathan; Adam is dressed as the Joker – the Jared Leto version, not the Joaquin Phoenix one – and his girlfriend is Harley Quinn. Steve tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Steve!” Adam exclaims jovially, as he stands up and throws an arm over Steve’s shoulders. “How’ve you been? You look,” Adam steps back, but keeps a possessive hand on Steve’s upper arm, and looks him up and down in a way that makes Steve’s skin crawl, “good.”

Steve shrugs off Adam’s hand and steps back, right into ‘Oz’, whose eyes flit from Steve’s face, taking in Steve’s uncomfortable expression and stiff body language, to Adam’s face, which still has a predatory leer, and back to Steve’s face. Steve can feel his heart racing – he hates running into his exes. He hates conflict in general. 

“Adam, right?” ‘Oz’ asks, leaning against the doorframe. His tone is casual, but when Steve glances over his shoulder at him, he can see that his eyes are hard. 

“That’s right, and you are…?” Adam says, but his tone implies that he doesn’t really care. 

“Billy,” ‘Oz’ – Billy – says. He’s got his arms crossed, and the craft beer bottle grasped loosely in one hand, resting it against his elbow. Then Billy pushes himself off the wall and saunters into the room. 

“Okay,” mutters Adam, but he’s still looking at Steve.

Steve swallows and looks from Adam to Adam’s girlfriend. Adam’s girlfriend is giggling at something the girl sitting next to her is saying and isn’t paying attention. 

Billy stops in front of Adam and says, “You know, most people don’t really like being grabbed. Maybe that’s something you’ve never learned, since you seem to be the type that just… looks out for yourself.” Billy grins and takes a sip of his beer. 

Adam’s mouth drops open as if he can’t believe someone’s talking to him like that. 

Billy continues, leaning forward, and almost conspiratorially whispers, “The university puts on this really good workshop about consent, which most people take in their first year – you probably just missed it.”

“What?” Adam says, like he just isn’t comprehending the words Billy is saying.

“Right,” Billy remarks, “shocking that you’ve gone this long without knowing that. I’d recommend checking it out, so situations like this,” Billy gestures between Adam and Steve, “don’t happen again.”

“What?” Adam says again.

Steve lets out a little laugh and says, “Billy, I don’t think Adam is capable of getting it. He was always a little too wrapped up in himself when we dated, but thanks for trying.”

“Steve,” Adam says, “what are you talking about and who is this?” He gestures violently at Billy, who just keeps grinning. 

Steve takes a step forward and tries to ask Billy permission for what he’s about to do with his eyes. Billy gives him a wink and Steve takes that as a yes. He holds out his hand and Billy grabs it, interlacing their fingers. 

“This is Billy,” Steve says, “he already told you that. He’s my… boyfriend.”

Billy brings their linked hands to his mouth and presses a kiss on the back of Steve’s, all while maintaining eye contact with Steve. 

Steve feels a rush of desire move through him at that intimate gesture. 

“You-you’ve moved on already?” Adam asks, voice a little high. 

“Why not? You did,” Steve remarks, gesturing to Adam’s girlfriend. “Or was I supposed to be pining after you until you got bored of her?”

Adam gapes at him. 

At that instant, Robin comes sprawling into the room, dragging Heather by the hand. She sees Adam and scowls, “Oh, it’s you.”

Adam rolls his eyes, “Hi Robin, nice to see you again.”

Robin’s scowl deepens, “I’m trying this new thing – it’s called honesty.” She picks at the nails of her right hand, letting her face shift into a look of complete nonchalance. “Maybe you should try it once in awhile?” 

Behind her, Heather snickers. 

“So,” continues Robin, “on that note, you – Harley – whatever your name is.”

Adam’s girlfriend looks up and Steve can see her eyes are glassy and unfocused – how much as she had to drink?

Robin snaps her fingers in front of her face. “If I’m being completely truthful, Adam, your boyfriend,” Robin jerks her thumb towards the guy in question, “is a complete dick. He’ll totally lead you on and then drop you when someone new comes along.”

The girl blinks at Robin, uncomprehendingly. Heather drops to a crouch in front of her, trying to catch her eye. “How about we find you some water, hmm?” Heather asks, standing and sticking out her hand to help the girl up. 

“There’s a bathroom just down the hall to your right,” Billy says to Heather, as she pulls the other girl to her feet. 

Heather throws him a grateful look and shepherds the girl out of the room. 

“Hey,” Adam says, starting to go after the two of them, but Robin steps between him and the door. The sight is almost comical, given their height difference. Even with the bowler hat, Robin barely comes up to Adam’s nose. But Adam is the one to back down; he glares at her and takes a step back. Robin smirks a little as she crosses her arms. 

“So, you’ve moved on to _him_?” Adam says with a sniff to Steve, then looks at Billy and their interlaced hands. 

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, deliberately not looking at Robin, hoping that she’ll play along.

“Does he know about your anxiety yet? Your depression?” Adam hisses, stepping forward into Steve’s space. 

Steve swallows, unable to form a response, because of course Adam would be that big of an asshole to bring that up when they are in a room full of _strangers_.

Billy lets go of his hand, and Steve thinks that this is it, the ruse is up. He’s psyching himself up to bolt from the room, but then he feels a hand rest on the back of his neck and give a light squeeze, almost as if Billy’s saying _I’m here, it’s okay_. Steve glances over and sees that Billy’s looking at him, a small smile on his face, it doesn’t have the teasing playful aura of earlier, it’s just small, open, and reassuring. Steve feels his heartrate slow down, feels his stomach unclench, and lets a smile of his own spread across his face. 

“See,” Billy says in gruffer tone, causing Adam to lean in slightly to hear him, “I’m thinking that you must’ve missed that inclusivity workshop as well. Or maybe you’ve killed too many brain cells with all the partying you’ve done.” Billy drops his hand from Steve’s neck and surges forward so he’s almost chest to chest with Adam. “Or maybe,” he growls, “you’re just a fucking asshole–”

“It’s the last one,” quips a male voice from the doorway, and Jonathan steps into the room, followed by Nancy. Heather trails in after them with a smirk on her face. Steve thinks they’d been talking in the hallway. Or maybe Heather went to find Nancy and Jonathan? He’s not sure.

Jonathan steps up and puts an arm around Billy’s shoulders and leans in like he’s telling Billy a secret. “We’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he doesn’t seem to learn.”

Adam snarls and yells, “I dumped _you_ , Harrington! I don’t need this bullshit.”

“Yes,” says Nancy, coolly. She takes a sip from the flask and passes it to Jonathan, who holds it out to Billy. Billy shakes his head and Jonathan takes a sip. “And Steve has been so much happier since then,” Nancy continues, “maybe we should be thanking you.”

Robin snorts and shakes her head. “No, that’s giving Adam way too much power, although… maybe his dickishness just brought everyone down?”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Adam says, stepping towards Robin.

But Steve steps between them, puts two fingers on Adam’s chest, and pushes him back with the slightest pressure. “How about you just accept that you shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have treated me the way you did, and maybe have your own issues to work out?”

“You can’t talk…” Adam starts to say again, but he trails off when Steve spins away from him. 

Billy grabs Steve’s hand and says, “How about we get out of here, I could use some air.”

Steve nods and lets himself be pulled along by Billy out of the room and down the stairs. He peers over his shoulder and sees that Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, and Heather are following them, but a distance. He can see that Robin’s saying something, her face animated and open, and then they’re all laughing. Jonathan meets Steve’s eyes and raises his eyebrows, mimicking Nancy’s expression from earlier, asking _you okay_? Steve nods, because he is okay, he has great friends who are always looking out for him, and he’s holding hands with a very cute boy. 

“You okay that we left?” Billy asks, as they make their way out the front doors of the frat house. The night air makes Steve shiver; he should’ve grabbed his coat. 

“Yeah,” Steve forces out through teeth that are starting to chatter, “I hate crowds.” They end up leaning against the side of the building; the music is loud enough that Steve can still hear the bass through the walls.

Billy laughs and shrugs off his hoodie. “Here,” he says, holding it out to Steve, “you’re gonna freeze.”

“What about you?” Steve asks, but he’s already putting it on, relishing the warmth, both from the hoodie itself and from Billy’s rapidly dissipating body heat. 

“I’m warm-blooded,” Billy replies, setting his empty bottle on the ground and fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He taps one out and holds the pack up to Steve. 

“I’m good,” Steve says, shaking his head. The adrenaline from the earlier confrontation is quickly depleting and anxiety is its unwilling replacement. Steve is outside with the guy that he said was his boyfriend. And Steve hadn’t even asked him first. Not that there had been much of an opportunity to do so. But, still. That really wasn’t okay. 

Billy brings the cigarette to his mouth and lights it. The tip glows orange in the darkness. He exhales slowly and Steve can see the cloud of smoke rising in the lights from the windows of the frat house. 

Steve clears his throat. “I… uh… thank you,” he manages to stutter out, flushing at the total lack of eloquence in his delivery. 

Billy exhales again and grins. “You’re welcome. Not too often I get to play the white knight.” He gives Steve a thoughtful look and adds, “Especially for someone so pretty.” 

Steve chuckles. “I dunno, man, if we’re talking about who’s the pretty one between the two of us, I think you’ve got me beat.”

Billy shakes his head but doesn’t respond. They stand in silence for a few minutes and Steve tries to work up his courage. 

“So, um, maybe we should start over?” Steve sticks out his hand, “hi, I’m Steve.”

Billy takes a draw on his cigarette, and then puts it in his left hand. He grabs Steve’s hand with his right, and gives it a firm shake, “Billy,” he says. But, instead of dropping Steve’s hand, he rubs his thumb over the back of it. “What if I don’t want to start over?” he asks, softly, looking Steve in the eyes. “I kinda like being your white knight.”

Steve swallows and feels excitement and apprehension hit him low in the stomach. He whispers, “Then we don’t have to.”

Billy lets go of Steve’s hand and stubs out his cigarette on the pavement. Then, slowly, so Steve can stop him if he wants, he puts his hands on both sides of Steve’s face and draws him down. Their lips touch lightly and Steve leans forward to deepen the kiss. He feels the tip of Billy’s tongue swipe across the seam of his lips and he parts them. Billy licks into his mouth and Steve runs his hands along Billy’s bare arms, which are just as muscled as he expected, and– 

“Steve,” Robin’s voice yells. 

Steve jerks back, startled. Billy lets out a groan of frustration and drops his hands. 

“Shit,” Steve whispers, “sorry.”

“Where’d you go?” Robin asks, sounding closer, “I grabbed your jacket.”

Billy sighs. “Do you wanna pick this up later?” he asks, as he bends over to pick up his bottle. 

“Yes,” Steve responds, shivering at the loss of Billy’s heat. 

“Oh. There you are,” Robin says, rounding the corner. She holds out Steve’s jacket. He grabs it and slips off Billy’s hoodie. 

“You want to come back to my place?” Steve asks, as he gives Billy’s hoodie back to him.

“You should come,” Robin exclaims, “I think all of us were gonna go play boardgames and continue drinking.”

“Sure,” Billy says, “sounds like fun.”

Robin grins and turns around to head back to the others. Steve starts to follow her, but he feels a hand grab his own. He looks back to see Billy’s hand interlaced in his own. Billy grins at him and they follow Robin. 

Nancy, Jonathan, and Heather are standing in illuminated section of the front lawn. Jonathan’s got another joint out and is trying to light it while Nancy is saying something about her psychology course to Heather. Jonathan finally gets the joint lit, inhales, and holds it out to Heather.

Exhaling, Jonathan says, “You might want to fix your,” he gestures to Steve’s face.

Steve frowns in confusion. And Nancy bursts out laughing. 

Robin spins to look at Steve and Billy and she snorts. “Steve, you’re fine. Billy, on the other hand, you look like you’ve been making out with a smurf.”

Billy wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and it comes back blue. Because Steve’s face is covered in blue face paint. Because Steve is dressed up as William Wallace.

Steve sighs. “Robin, why’d you make me wear this?” he whines.

Billy laughs and wipes his face again.

“It’s not gonna work,” Robin remarks, “you’re just spreading it around. C’mon, I got makeup remover at home.”

They start walking.

Billy whispers into Steve’s ear, “Well, I guess one more kiss couldn’t hurt, then.”

* * *

“Robin, what are we supposed to be?” Steve asks, as he looks down at their matching outfits. They’re standing in the bathroom, just like they were a year before. Only, this time, Steve isn’t trying to heft a claymore over his shoulders. But he’s pretty sure this costume is worse.

“I dunno,” Robin says, “I saw them and thought they were hilarious, so…” She shrugs as if to say _here we are_.

“Are we supposed to be sailors? Because if we are, why do the hats say ‘Scoops Ahoy’?” Steve asks as he stares into the mirror and shudders at the whole ensemble.

“I dunno,” Robin repeats, with a shit-eating grin on her face. She adjusts her hat so it’s sitting at a jaunty angle.

“And why are my shorts so short?” Steve whines, as he tries to pull the legs down, which only succeeds in pulling the shorts down over his hips. He flushes and pulls them back up.

“I dunno,” Robin says, “but if you think yours are short, wait until you see Billy’s.”

Steve sighs. “We look like we stepped out of the ‘80s.”

“I know!” Robin exclaims, “isn’t it great?”

“Heather,” comes Billy’s voice from down the hall, “why are we dressed as lifeguards?” Footsteps thud as someone approaches the bathroom. Then Billy is standing in the open door, wearing red shorts and a white tank top with _Lifeguard_ written in red letters across his chest.

Steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks his boyfriend up and down. The shorts perfectly highlight Billy’s muscular thighs and the tank top shows off Billy’s biceps. “You, uh, you look great,” Steve manages to say, his voice a little squeaky. 

Billy’s face shifts from a scowl to a grin as he takes in Steve’s costume. “So do you, pretty boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> The non-consensual touching is from drunk people at the party – they touch Steve’s shoulders and arms. Also, Steve’s ex-boyfriend grabs him around the shoulders and upper arm when they’re talking and it makes Steve uncomfortable. 
> 
> Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr! You can find me @ [coffeeandchemicals](https://coffeeandchemicals.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Hopefully you all got my movie/tv references!


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